The Saga of Ron Saris
by Katharra
Summary: Ron Saris seeks revenge against Horatio the best way he knows how - through his loved ones. AU somewhere between Season 6 & 7.
1. Prologue

His left shoulder hurt. The culprit of his discomfort lay in the unyielding cold metal beneath his shoulder. He slowly, experimentally opened his eyes. A constant movement underneath his body jostled him, almost rhythmically. He blinked once, willing the odd haze to leave his eyesight. He tried to lick his lips but found he couldn't move his mouth. He tried to pry his lips apart, found that they were stuck. _Tape?_ He wondered silently to himself.

He was lying on his side, inside the dark confines of something large and moving. A van. His arms were tied uncomfortably behind his back. He tugged at the bonds and sharp plastic bit into his skin in reply. Something sticky plastered the side of his temple. He lifted his head up, tried to see around him. A headache formed in the base of his skull, pounding in tempo to every beat of his heart. He squinted against it. He could see two seats ahead of him, with an occupant in each. They talked lowly to each other; he couldn't make out their words. Two men though, judging by the tenor of their voices. He laid his aching head back down. His fingers explored as much as they could, hoping that they would find some sort of makeshift weapon, some way of getting out of his current predicament. Instead they found fabric. Soft, lustrous fabric. He gave the fabric a sharp tug.

Someone moaned behind him. Kyle Harmon's eyes widened sharply at the sound. He craned his neck around, shuffled his body until he was on his back and then nearly yelled in surprise through the tape covering his mouth.

Julia Winston, his mother, was similarly bound and barely conscious. She blinked unfocused eyes at him. A deep bruise was forming on her right cheekbone. If it weren't for the tape, he could have almost sworn that she just smiled at him. Then her eyes rolled up into her head and her body went limp.

Panic started in the base of Kyle's gut, worked its way up into his throat until it nearly burst through in a scream. He wanted to yell her name, shake her until she woke up. As it was, all he could do was stare at her, shuffle close to her until his forehead was touching her shoulder and pray that someone found them soon.


	2. Chapter One

Julia Winston had a troubled childhood. Her mother had problems of her own, the kind she never made Julia privy to and the kind Julia could never understand until she herself was a woman. But as a child she didn't understand, and so she came to believe that her mother despised her which made her mutually resent her mother in return. Her father had long ago abandoned the tiny family and her mother secretly blamed Julia for this event, although her father's leaving was entirely due to her mother's behaviour and his own inadequacy as a parent. He didn't know what to do as a father, and the responsibility terrified him.

In her mind, Julia built her father up to glorious standards and in the process made ridiculous excuses for his abandonment, justifying it somehow on the belief that it was all due to a deep-seated, but misguided, love for her.

Her mother had a fair share of boyfriends during her childhood. There were some that weren't so bad; at least, the ones that acknowledged her existence and sometimes even brought her presents (which were mostly bribes to keep her quiet during her mom's dates). Others were awful, crude, disgusting slobs that she cringed at as soon as she saw them walk through the door.

She longed for the day when she could leave the two-bedroom apartment and make it on her own, to find the man who would treat her the way she believed her father would have, had he stuck around.

She liked attention. In fact, she craved it and that much could be seen from her carefully applied beauty and revealing clothing. But despite the cool, aloof, untouchable exterior she created, on the inside, she longed to feel safe, cared for and protected. And so she naturally gravitated towards men who seemed to be confident, in control of the situation and who were comfortable with the use of a gun.

It didn't particularly matter to her whether they were on the right side of the law or slightly, even shockingly far from the law either. She didn't care for justice, morals, family values or any of that. Julia saw success in the size of a house, in the logo on a purse and the price tag of a car. And these were the things that she provided to those she loved.

Her newfound son, Kyle, was no exception.

His name wasn't Horatio back then. And he wasn't a detective either. But no matter the cover story, Julia saw something underneath. Someone who would take care of her, someone she could build a life with and someone that would stick it out with her. When he abruptly left and she discovered the unwanted pregnancy, the anger and the betrayal were beyond anything she had ever felt before. When the baby boy was born, with eyes as sea-blue as her own, she barely felt a flicker of maternal of love. He was a constant reminder of everything that had failed in her life and everything that she had lost for the future.

She left him with her mother, handing him over with an icy stare and telling her mother that she owed her this. Her bewildered mother took the baby, gave her daughter a questioning look but got no further than that as Julia pivoted sharply and stalked into a white convertible, shooting her mother one final loathing glance before speeding away. The new grandmother cooed at her grandson, admired his scrunched-up face, his tiny fingers and toes and rocked him to sleep.

The love affair didn't last very long. After the cuteness of being a baby fell away into the whiny, neediness of being a toddler, Julia's mother had had enough. All attempts to contact Julia to come and collect her son had been rebuffed or completely ignored. After one very bad weekend complete with temper tantrums and broken figurines that had been a gift from her own mother, Kyle's grandmother called Social Services.

It was a bewildering time for Kyle. He was shuffled into home after home, staring up at weary foster parents who couldn't be bothered to even learn his name. He often had multiple "siblings", many of them much older who ran over him as they ripped around the house, sometimes pushing him violently out of the way. At school he was made fun of for being a foster child, so he mostly kept to himself. The only friends he did have were much like him, either foster children themselves or children of neglectful parents. And so he fell into the wrong crowd; a clubhouse of disaffected children who felt so shunned by society that in return, they did their best to repay in kind.

Drinking, experimenting with drugs, shoplifting and fighting soon began to fill the days that he should have been at school. The last foster home wasn't even a house; it was boat run by a man who only kept foster children for the money he got paid to do it. Kyle was his meal ticket, and even that wasn't a big ticket. The man didn't care for Kyle, didn't care where he was or what he was up to, so long as he got his paycheque every week. Kyle hated this foster father, looked down on him in ways he couldn't imagine and continually told himself that he was never going to end up like that. That one day, he would hit the big ticket and would make something of himself.

Initially, he was hoping that one simple kidnap might be it. In the beginning, it sounded like something that was too good to be true. A huge paycheque and the promise that no one would get hurt. Of course, he didn't factor everything that could go wrong with it, including his own overwhelming sense of guilt. That, and a certain red-haired detective that seemed to be able to read his thoughts.

If the shock of having to spend time in a maximum-security prison wasn't enough, discovering both an estranged father and mother would have sent anyone else over the edge. He was in awe of his mother who was beautiful, rich and supportive of him in ways he didn't think possible. He was similarly in awe of his father, and somewhat terrified of him in the same way. Horatio Caine was smart, powerful and unbending in his pursuit of justice. Even if it meant that Kyle would be going to prison for the rest of his life.

Horatio had clever ways of keeping him safe in prison, but that didn't stop Kyle from being there in the first place. Julia, however, was horrified at the thought of her son in prison and would do anything to get him out.

And so, when he was freed, he felt more than a little obligated to go with Julia. He felt bad for his father, and hoped beyond hope that he didn't look down on Kyle for his decision. Horatio assured him that he was now a part of his life forevermore. Kyle felt something in his chest that day that he had never felt before: trust.

Julia lavished Kyle the only way she knew how; anything he wanted, Kyle got. She supplied him with an entirely new wardrobe (no son of hers was going to look like a skater boy from the hood), let him pick out everything he wanted for his new room, bought him every gaming system on this earth and even consented to Grand Theft Auto (after all, it's not like the game could convince him to do anything he hadn't already done). She let him stay up late, go out on the weekends with whomever he wanted and she even let him drive her Porsche. But she also enrolled him in one of the most coveted private schools in Miami. Kyle was going to be raised _right_ and he was going to meet someone _right _and the rest of his life was going to be _right_.

Given Julia's expectations of his bright and hopeful future, it therefore baffled Kyle to no end why Julia would end up with someone like Ron Saris. In the back of his mind, Kyle had always hoped that Julia and Horatio would rediscover their long lost love for each other, and they would all move in together and become the stupidly happy family that he always saw on television sitcoms. He knew it was a silly fantasy, but he didn't feel sorry for his dreams. With all the expensive dreams Julia was willing to buy him, this was an inexpensive, simple dream that money couldn't touch.

Ron was an asshole. He flashed his money around like an egomaniac, controlled Julia and her finances, made fun of Kyle every chance he got. Kyle hated the douchebag but was careful to keep his feelings in check. Ron Saris also scared the living shit out of Kyle.

Kyle knew he was dangerous from the moment he laid eyes on him. In his 16 years of life, Kyle came to recognize the truly dangerous men from the boasting, hot-headed idiots of the world. The dangerous ones never made idle threats or made a show of their tattoos and biceps. They studied their surroundings, looked for valuables and possible escape routes. The dangerous ones studied you when you thought they weren't looking. They measured you up, assessed your weaknesses and their chances against you and they did it silently.

Kyle had once questioned Julia about her attachment to Ron and she coolly told him to mind his own business. He considered talking to his father about Ron, but thought against it. Horatio would most likely confront Julia, who would then blame Kyle, and then Horatio and Julia would get into a no-holds-barred fight and accomplish nothing. If there was one thing Kyle had learnt about his new parents, it was that both of them shared a stubbornness that was epic.

And so, Kyle warily accepted Ron as an unfortunate part of his otherwise great new life. That was, until his mother stopped taking her medication. And money started disappearing. And Ron started gripping his mother's arm forcefully, even painfully. Unease began to grow in Kyle's stomach as every day turned up something even worse.

And then his father showed up one day to warn Kyle and Julia against Ron. What really worried Kyle was his mother's lack of argument. Instead, her eyes grew wide and she nodded soberly.

"I know," she whispered. "I know you're right Horatio." She looked up at him with those luminous eyes, welling with tears. "It's just..." she trailed off as she spared a glance in Kyle's direction. "I don't know if we can just _leave_. He'll find us, Horatio."

Horatio crossed his arms across his chest confidently. "I can make sure he doesn't."

Julia shook her head slightly. "Where do you want us to go?"

Kyle's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What do you mean go? We're not leaving!"

Horatio studied his son's stubborn stance. It was familiar; the same stance that he held on the dock when he first met Horatio and proceeded to tell him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't his father, even though he really was. "Kyle, it's for your own safety," Horatio reasoned.

Kyle turned to him. "I'm not going anywhere! I just found you two; I'm not leaving!"

"Your mother will be going with you. You won't be alone," he laid a hand on Julia's slender shoulder.

Kyle looked uncertainly from his mother to his father. "But what about you?" He asked quietly. "Won't I ever see you again?"

Horatio approached him and stared at his son firmly in the eyes. "Of course you will. But for now, this is the only way I can keep you safe. That is what's most important here."

Kyle swallowed, unsure of the path his father was asking him to take. He didn't want to leave, at least, not without Horatio. But he was worried about his mother, worried for her safety. He had always felt that his mother bore fragility and that had made him protective of her from the moment he met her. He felt more protective of her now than he had ever before.

Horatio took a step back, inhaled deeply and began outlining the plan. "We'll play it smooth for the next few days. Go about your daily business as though nothing were wrong. We don't want to give him the slip. I'll make all the plans; don't worry about that. When the time is right, be prepared to leave at a moment's notice."

Kyle absorbed what his father's words meant. The life that Julia had tried to provide for him, the future that he had been looking forward to, suddenly all of it was thrown into disarray. The anxiety shone through on his face with a deep frown and a crease in his forehead.

Horatio's hand clutched his shoulder firmly. Kyle looked up into his father's warm face.

"I'll take care of this," he promised.


	3. Chapter Two

He had waited for Julia at the school for over 20 minutes. Normally, she was there to pick him up. It was why, he suspected, that more than a few of the other teenaged boys also stayed late after school. He was painfully aware of the ogling eyes and nervous smirks and it always made him angry. One time, as he walked over to the Porsche that Julia was leaning up against in a very short and very tight dress, oblivious to anything but her Blackberry, he heard 'MILF' shouted out by one of the local idiots. _'Perverts' _he had muttered under his breath. When he got into the car he glared at them murderously, and when Julia drove away and he was sure she wasn't looking, he flipped them the middle finger too.

But today she was late, or she had forgotten again. The latter was becoming more and more frequent as her behaviour became increasingly erratic. He felt helpless watching her descend into a pattern of forgetfulness and odd delusions. He looked at his silver wristwatch again. 25 minutes late. He sighed. He tugged once on his backpack straps and slipped his iPod earphones in, blasting the music loudly before setting off for the long walk home.

He was a few blocks away, mindlessly navigating his iPods menu with his thumb, when he finally glanced up at his mother's elegant cobblestone driveway. There was a white van parked close to the front door. Kyle cocked his head at that in mild surprise. He didn't recall anyone stopping by to fix anything, and in any event, the van didn't have any logos plastered on the side. He slowly removed the earphones and stashed the iPod into his khaki pocket. As he walked cautiously towards the large oak door, he noticed that it was slightly ajar.

Kyle stopped. Something fluttered in his gut, a whispered warning. He grabbed his cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open and began dialling his father's cell. He crept towards the open door, taking light footsteps while glancing furtively around him.

"Horatio Caine." His father's clear voice spoke to him from the cell phone pressed against his ear.

"Dad," Kyle said quickly. "Hey, I think something might be wrong," he said quietly. He paused in front of the door, pushing it open slightly and peering around it.

"Kyle? Where are you son?" Horatio's voice had a sudden urgency to it.

"I'm at home," he whispered as he stepped over the threshold. Down the hallway, he spied an overturn chair from the dining room. He took a few steps inside the hallway, his pulse quickening with every step. "I think-" he stopped in mid-sentence as he turned and saw his mother in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast nook with duct tape covering her mouth and tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes pleaded to her son. A large bald man with a black goatee and leather jacket held a gun to the back of her head.

"Kyle? Kyle, what's happening?" Horatio's voice had risen slightly.

"Oh God," Kyle breathed.

"He ain't gonna help you, kid."

The voice came from behind. Kyle turned and had a brief moment to see Ron Saris' grinning face before the butt end of a rifle came down brutally on his right temple. The room spun violently. His mother's muffled voice screamed from somwhere distant. Kyle fell, saw his cell phone spinning away from him on the polished wood floor, then saw white patent leather shoes stalk after the cell phone. He blinked groggily, reached his hand for the phone.

Ron picked it up, put it to his ear and listened to Horatio Caine's frantic calls to his son. "Sorry Horatio," Ron answered. "Kyle's about to be a little tied up."

He snapped the phone shut and smiled wickedly down at Kyle. Kyle strained to see clearly as Ron's face faded in and out of focus. Finally, he let his eyes drift shut, no longer possessing the strength to fight the oncoming darkness that beckoned.

* * *

Horatio Caine had just finished an interrogation and was standing outside the room with Calleigh Duquesne. He had his hands on his hips, chewed mindlessly on his bottom lip while he considered the suspect's vague answers. Calleigh, with her usual mix of insightfulness and feistiness, had suggested all sorts of scenarios, reasoning each one with meticulous detail and motivation. Then Horatio's phone rang. He raised a hand to Calleigh, motioning her to pause in her train of thought.

"Horatio Caine," he answered.

His son's panicked voice came through on the other end. "Dad, hey, I think something might be wrong."

"Kyle? Where are you son?" Horatio's attention immediately fell to his son and away from the current case at hand. Calleigh's eyes widened as she watched Horatio's change in expression.

"I'm at home," Kyle whispered. "I think-"

His son's voice trailed off. Horatio's heart began to hammer in his chest. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and he instantly felt too far away from his son.

"Kyle? Kyle, what's happening?"

"Oh God."

Those two words set off the alarm in Horatio's mind. He was already walking towards the exit, with Calleigh hot on his heels. She had her cell phone out, ready to call anyone that Horatio would need. Horatio continued to call his son's name frantically. There was an abrupt bang coming from the cell, followed by a clatter and intermittent static. Horatio paused, straining to hear what might be happening on the other end.

"Kyle," he said softly.

"Sorry Horatio," a familiar voice cooed into the phone. "Kyle's about to be a little tied up."

The phone line went dead and Horatio's blood went cold. Calleigh stared into her superior's pale face and felt her own fear build.

"Horatio, what is it?"

Horatio snapped out of his reverie, inhaled deeply and looked at Calleigh. "Ron Saris has my son."


	4. Chapter Three

The tires squealed as the van lurched to a rough stop. Kyle rolled onto his back. The people in the front of the van stepped out and slammed their doors shut. Kyle strained to hear their footsteps. The double back doors to the van opened and bright sunlight streamed in, momentarily blinding the teenager. He squinted against it, fought to see who stood in front of him.

Two burly men, one that he recognized from the house, stood beside each opened door. They stared down at him impassively. He heard a car door slam from somewhere behind the men and then the sound of lazy footsteps, sauntering towards them.

"Get em up," Ron Saris commanded.

They both reached in simultaneously, grabbing Kyle and Julia's arms roughly. Kyle was dragged from the van and set on his feet, but the muscular arm never left his bicep. Julia was struggling to stay awake and on her feet. The man behind her held her by both arms as her head hung drunkenly in front.

Kyle took a few moments to study his surroundings. They were in a shipyard, and a heavy duty one at that. Large cranes loomed over them but the dock looked empty. Twilight painted the entire scene in a hazy orange. '_It must be quitting time,'_ Kyle thought to himself. '_Everyone's gone home.'_ And that meant no help would be forthcoming for his current predicament.

Ron was grinning at them, undoubtedly delighted with their misfortune at his own hands. "Well, well, well. Aren't we just one big happy family?"

Kyle glared at him.

Ron took off his sunglasses, rubbed one arm absently with his thumb as he studied Julia's staggering form. "Wow. You're a mess." He walked over to her, cradled her chin in one hand and forced her to look up at him. "We coulda' been happy together. I don't know why you let that _snake_ into our home."

Kyle flinched as though he'd been physically slapped. Ron was calling his father a snake. He found it a bit hypocritical. He would have called him on it too, if it weren't for the annoying piece of duct tape covering his mouth. Ron eyed him suddenly, as if reading his thoughts.

"You got a problem with me kid?"

Kyle stared at him evenly.

Ron casually walked towards him until he was looming over top of his face. He cocked his head as he surveyed the young man in front of him. "Never did like the looks of you, you know that Kyle?"

Kyle continued to hold his gaze.

Ron grabbed him at the base of his neck and squeezed hard. Kyle cringed. "You look too much like your father." He abruptly let him go and turned his back on them both, walking towards the blue convertible. There was a soft click as Ron pressed a button on his keyless entry. "Get them ready," he yelled over his shoulder as he slid into the driver's seat.

* * *

The wail of sirens pierced the pretentious serenity of the high-class suburb that Julia Winston inhabited. Horatio Caine rode shotgun in the CSI Hummer that was being handled expertly by Calleigh Duquesne. Although Calleigh often looked and sounded like a perfect southern belle, those that knew her well also knew her appreciation for firearms and her aggressive driving skills.

"She treats the freeway like it's her own personal Nascar track," Eric Delko had once commented lightly to Horatio. At the moment, it was an ability that Horatio wouldn't have traded for the world.

Calleigh weaved in and out of lanes, keeping both eyes glued to the rode even as she listened in attentively to Horatio's telephone conversation with Frank Tripp. "I heard his voice Frank; I know it was Ron Saris." Calleigh accelerated around a slow moving mini-van and got back into her lane. "Meet me there," Horatio said before snapping his phone shut. Calleigh glanced at Horatio. He rubbed his forehead, then started drumming the armrest impatiently.

"We'll get there," Calleigh assured him.

Horatio continued to stare at the road ahead of him.

* * *

Police cars already swarmed the house. Frank Tripp was standing in the doorway to Julia's house when the Hummer pulled up. Horatio was already getting out of the passenger side before the Hummer was put into park. He jogged up to the detective and tried to read the grim look on Frank's face.

Frank put his hands out, as though to catch Horatio before he bowled him over completely. "They're not here, Horatio."

Horatio pushed past Frank anyway to get inside the house. With one quick look, he instantly catalogued the scene before him. The front door had been open with no signs of forced entry. There was an overturned chair in the dining room. Kyle's backpack was haphazardly slumped in the hallway. Then he noticed the blood.

He crouched down beside it, noting the amount. It wasn't much, but it was enough to know that someone had been injured. He stared at it, almost transfixed. A pair of white stilettos suddenly appeared by his side. Natalia Boa Vista crouched down beside him. Silently, she dabbed at some of the blood with a long cotton swab, pocketing it into a vial. "I'll have this analyzed right away," she said.

Horatio nodded, grateful in his own silent way for the competency and intuitiveness of his team. He got up, hands on his hips and a perplexed frown plastered on his face. He walked into the kitchen, where Ryan Wolfe was taking pictures of something small on the breakfast nook table. Horatio strained his eyes at the item. Slipping on a pair of latex gloves, he picked up the small orange bottle. It was a bottle for prescription drugs, most of which were gone. A few small white pills littered the glass tabletop. Horatio turned the pill bottle to study the label on the front.

"Its Tryptizol," Ryan Wolfe stated. "It's a tricyclic anti-depressant."

Horatio nodded. "It's Julia's."

Ryan frowned at the scattered pills on the table. "Hope she didn't take too many. These can cause some serious side effects."

Horatio replaced the pill bottle on the table. "Something tells me she didn't take them willingly."


	5. Chapter Four

"Talked to the neighbours, Horatio," Frank Tripp stated in his strong Texan drawl as he walked up the driveway. Horatio stepped outside into the waning sunlight and drew on his sunglasses. "Most of them didn't see much but a couple remember seein' a white cube van driving real fast. No logos on the van and never thought to get a licence plate."

"Did any of your men find a cell phone, Frank?"

Frank looked surprised by the question. "No. Should we be lookin' for one?"

Horatio stared off into the street. "My son's phone. I was talking to him when he was attacked by Ron Saris."

Frank and Horatio exchanged meaningful glances. "You tried calling it back?"

Horatio nodded. "I have. It keeps going to voicemail."

"Must have turned it off. Still..." Frank trailed off as he rubbed his chin.

"We would be able to track it," Horatio finished for him. "If it was turned on."

Frank nodded knowingly, feeling a pang of sympathy for what Horatio must be going through. "I'll have someone monitor the phone anyway. As soon as it's turned on, GPS will be able to pick it up."

Horatio gave him a short nod and Frank Tripp quickly walked away. Horatio's cell phone rang loudly in his pocket.

"Yes," he answered.

"Got the results from the blood sample," Natalia said. "It was easy to do with your son's DNA profile already loaded into the database. It's a direct match, Horatio. The blood is Kyle's."

Even though the news was hardly unexpected, Horatio still cringed with the knowledge. Ron Saris had drawn Kyle's blood, had hurt his son, and for what gain? The blood in his veins boiled with barely concealed anger.

"Horatio?" Natalia said over the seemingly dead line. "You still there?"

Horatio roused himself and forced his way through the conversation. "Yes, I am. Good work, Natalia. Thank you."

"Anytime," she said before hanging up.

Horatio wanted to hurl the phone, to smash it into a million pieces, to hit _something_, but instead he pocketed the phone and exhaled his anger and frustration at feeling helpless.

"Where are you son?" he asked the darkening sky.

* * *

They had moved them to an abandoned warehouse. Empty barrels coated with rust dotted the large structure, but other than that, there was nothing else in the warehouse except for Kyle and Julia, their two beefy watchmen, and the simple table and chairs that the watchmen sat at, playing cards and smoking cigarettes.

Kyle's hands were tied behind his back, and his ankles were tied together as well. He sat on the cool concrete and tried to rub his fingers together in an effort to keep the circulation going. The plastic twist ties that encased his limbs were unforgiving. At least the duct tape gag was gone now, but only after receiving a stern warning to keep quiet and hearing about the consequences if he didn't. They were quite graphic in their descriptions of what they could do to him if he so much as made a peep.

Julia was lying on her side, blonde hair spilling over her face. She slept on, despite Kyle's gentle nudges every so often. He was thankful that at least she was breathing and even though he longed for a comforting word or glance from her, he was happy that she was missing most of the situation.

One of the men, Kyle thought his name might be Carl, slammed his cards down on the table in disgust. He rubbed his face with one hand and took a long drag on his cigarette. His eyes strayed to where Kyle sat. He glowered at him.

"What are you staring at?" He asked accusingly.

Kyle said nothing and tried to avert his eyes. Apparently the response wasn't good enough for Carl. He stood up and kicked the chair back, which echoed loudly in the cavernous building. He drew up to his full height, which was massive. Kyle wondered if the man had been a former NFL linebacker.

"What's your problem, punk?"

Kyle steeled himself for what he felt would be an inevitable beat down at the hands of an oversized ape. But before Carl could take another step, the other man, Jones, stepped in front of him and laid a restraining hand on his chest. "Don't touch him," he warned. "We don't get paid until the job's through. And the job ain't finished yet."

Carl glared at Kyle for a few more minutes until finally he snorted and turned his back on them. He stalked away, yelling "I'm gonna take a piss" over his shoulder.

"What's the job?"

Jones turned his head slowly to eye Kyle. "What'd you say, kid?"

"I said, what's the job?" Kyle repeated.

Jones huffed once and stared at Kyle quizzically. Jones wasn't as big or tall as Carl, but what he lacked in size he made up for in his snarl. Jones was darker than Carl, with black curly hair, a moustache and dark eyes framed by thick black eyebrows. His neck was tattooed with snakes that wound around each other and up his to jaw. "Mind your own business, shithead. You'll live longer that way."

Kyle closed his mouth and looked away. He was hoping that maybe Jones would be a bit more sympathetic than Carl, and maybe he could play on his emotions a bit. But the answer he received from Jones told it all; Carl was in it because he liked to see people get hurt whereas Jones was in it for the money and nothing would stand in his way.

_'They're both psychopaths,' _Kyle surmised.

Something flopped next to him. Kyle craned his neck around. Julia's arms were twitching violently. In a matter of seconds, her entire body was wracked with spasms, jerking wildly out of control. "Mom!" Kyle screamed. He tried to turn and only ended up falling to his side in the process. "Mom!" He called again.

Jones was staring at the seizing woman with a mixture of bafflement and curiosity. Kyle noticed the expression and his anger instantly got the better of him. "Help her!" He ordered the man.

Jones seemed to snap out of his trance and shot a quick glare at Kyle before getting to his knees to flip Julia onto her back. He pinned her arms down, and while it may have slowed the convulsing in her torso, her head continued to smack up and down against the concrete.

"Get something underneath her head!" Kyle yelled.

Jones swore underneath his breath as he let go of Julia to retrieve his leather jacket from the back of his chair. He waddled up the brown coat and placed it behind her head. A few minutes later, the seizing slowed, then stopped altogether. White foam dripped out of the sides of Julia's mouth.

Kyle panicked at the site. "Is she choking?!"

Jones flipped Julia onto her side and checked her pulse. "It's just saliva you moron," he chastised.

"What happened to her? Why is she doing that? What did you assholes give her?"

At the last question, Jones snapped his hand back and belted Kyle across the mouth. Kyle's head snapped to the side under the assault. His bottom lip split; Kyle tasted blood on the tip of his tongue.

"You keep talking like that, we'll give you the same thing," he warned.

* * *

Floodlights surrounded the house where Julia and Kyle were last seen, illuminating the dark night. Horatio refused to leave the scene, determined that somehow his answer to their whereabouts would be found there. He wasn't entirely wrong.

His cell phone rang. He picked it up, was about to automatically answer it when he stopped. The caller ID said Kyle. Horatio snapped his fingers at Calleigh and Ryan, who had stayed with him to process the scene more thoroughly. The two glanced at each other and came loping over.

"Kyle?" Horatio tentatively asked.

"Does it sound like your whiny brat?" Ron's voice answered back.

Horatio closed his eyes against the moment of anguish that followed from hearing Ron instead of his son. "Ron, where is Julia and Kyle?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Ron said. He paused, enjoying the game he was playing with Horatio. "Is it hell, Horatio Caine? Not knowing what's happening to your own blood?"

"You are walking a very fine line here, Ron. Don't push me," Horatio warned.

"Push you, Horatio?" Ron barked into the phone. "Right now, I own you! You got nothing here Horatio, you get that? Nothing! No bargaining chips, nada. I hold all the cards and you got squat." Ron's laugh was harsh.

"What do you want, Ron?" Horatio finally asked.

There was silence as Ron took a few deep breaths. "I want to help you, Horatio."

The statement took Horatio by surprise, but he didn't have time to reflect on it long as he looked over at Calleigh and Ryan, who were running the GPS trace on Kyle's phone from a laptop in the back of the Hummer. Calleigh was hunched over and staring intently at the screen while Wolfe chewed nervously on his thumbnail over her shoulder.

"You listening Horatio?" Ron's voice sneered from the other end. "I want to help you. I want to help you see how powerless you are. That no matter how righteous you think you are, someone else can still pull your strings."

"This conversation is pointless," Horatio commented. "Either give me something useful or quit wasting my time."

Ron sputtered unintelligibly before catching himself. "You must really not value the life of your son to talk that way to me."

"We both know you're not going to kill my son now. You're too much of an egomaniac for that. You need your show."

Silence pervaded the next few tense moments. Ryan was watching his boss carefully.

Finally, Ron snorted into the phone. "You just got everyone figured out, don'cha?"

Horatio refused to be goaded into the conversation any further. He stayed silent. He knew that would infuriate Ron, who loved the sound of his own voice.

"Fine," Ron announced. "Have it your way. Tomorrow at noon, we'll do an exchange. I give you Kyle and Julia, you give me cash, freedom, and safe passage to Cuba. 7 million ought to do it."

"That's not very much in today's economy," Horatio commented.

"Who says I'm spending it in this economy? I'll give you more instructions tomorrow. Don't do anything stupid Caine. Remember what's at stake."

The phone went dead. Horatio held the phone out in front of him for a moment, before flipping it shut. He glanced at his two subordinates, who stared firmly back at him.

"We've got him," Calleigh announced.


	6. Chapter Five

Police cars lined the way both in front of the CSI Hummer and behind it. This time, Horatio was behind the wheel. Sirens and lights filled the night sky as the long caravan sped along the freeway. Calleigh almost had to yell from the passenger seat just so Horatio could here her over the high-pitched whine of sirens.

"The call originated from an abandoned warehouse only a few miles from here. Looks like he slipped up," Calleigh smiled at Horatio.

But Horatio couldn't return the smile. It wasn't like Ron Saris to accidentally overlook the phone tracing capabilities of the Miami-Dade police department. Something bothered him about the situation. It made him grimace.

Calleigh saw the grim look on Horatio's face and frowned. "What? What is it H?"

Horatio shook his head silently. "I won't know for sure until I get there," he said.

* * *

Kyle's head dipped and then jerked back up. He had been fighting sleep for the last hour, determined to stay awake and watch over his mother's almost lifeless figure and to keep on guard for the two thugs and whatever their next move might be. But the pounding headache in his temple that was a remnant of Ron's earlier pistol whipping had finally gotten the better of him, and when sleep beckoned, he found himself craving the reprieve that sleep might give. It was hard to find comfort sitting on the cold concrete with hands tied tightly behind him, but nonetheless, his chin finally hit his chest and his eyelids fluttered close.

He had no idea how long he slept, if at all, when the sound of approaching footsteps roused him. He slowly opened his eyes and winced at the tightness in his neck from drifting off at such an odd angle. His eyes noticed the concrete floor first and the shiny white loafers next. His eyes trailed up the white pleated pants, the bright pink t-shirt and white blazer and finally onto Ron Saris' smirking face.

"Morning sunshine. Sleep well?"

Kyle glared at him. "You do realize that Miami Vice was cancelled like 25 years ago, right?"

Ron's eyebrows knitted together in the middle of his forehead while he processed Kyle's words. He frowned deeply when he finally got it. "Smartass," he muttered before turning away. He stood over Julia's prone form, studying her for a moment. Kyle's pulse quickened; he began to fidget against his restraints in a feverish need to protect her. But Ron eventually turned away from her two and walked over to the two bodyguards still sitting at the card table. He began to speak to them; too quietly for Kyle to hear. He saw the two men nod, occasionally shooting him and Julia quick glances while Ron spoke. Something was going to happen to them, and Kyle guessed it wouldn't be much longer before they made their move. He looked over at his mother and whispered to her urgently.

"Mom! Mom, you need to wake up. Can you hear me?"

Her shoulders twitched and she moaned slightly. The sound made Kyle hopeful.

"Mom, wake up! Open your eyes!" He urged.

Julia's head flopped over to the side, facing Kyle, but her eyelids looked like they weighed 10 pounds as she fought to open them fully and keep them there. Finally, she focused groggily on her son.

"Are you...alright?" She slurred her words slightly.

Kyle nodded, smiling in relief. "We need to get out of here," he said seriously.

Julia groaned, and her eyelids drooped slightly. "I'm...tied up," she murmured.

"Me too," Kyle said. "But we need to figure something out before-"

"Before what?" Ron interrupted loudly.

Kyle froze with wide eyes. The group had stopped talking and now stared at him from the table. Ron walked over and noticed that Julia was awake.

"'Bout time you woke up princess. I'd hate for you to miss all the fun." He nudged her bare leg with his foot.

Julia gave him an odd little smile and even laughed breathlessly.

Ron cocked his head at her. "What's so funny?"

Julia laughed a little more before settling down. "You. You are so...dead. Horatio's going to find you, and when he does-"

Ron was on her quicker than a viper, crouching over her and pulling her head back by a strong grip in her long blonde hair. "Say his name again, Jules. What's he gonna do, huh?"

Julia cringed against the pull on her scalp, but continued to smile at him nonetheless. "Horatio's going to kill you Ron."

Ron's face softened into a smile as he caressed her cheek almost lovingly. "Aw, no sugar. That ain't gonna happen. Horatio isn't gonna rescue you or your brat. Hes never gonna make it. And by the time I'm done with him, they're gonna have problems collecting all the pieces of Horatio Caine."

He pulled out a cell phone from his pocket and began dialling.

* * *

The warehouse was close to the waterline, bordering on marshland and well hidden off the main roads by a long driveway encased on both sides with tall trees and overgrown bush. There were no other buildings close by and from the looks of it, no vehicles parked in front.

The police parked a safe distance away and crept towards the dilapidated warehouse with guns drawn. Horatio glanced about him warily. His instincts were buzzing with foreboding. As he approached the door, he waved at the other police to stay back and allow him to take the lead. He carefully pushed the metal door open and entered gun first. Silently, he walked into the warehouse, straining to hear any signs of life in the pitch black. He glanced quickly around, noted the size and emptiness of the warehouse, the few barrels haphazardly placed about and the sheer lack of any light. In the middle of the warehouse was a lone barrel and on top of it was a small object. Horatio walked towards it, gun still held high.

It was Kyle's cell phone. Horatio was about to pick it up, when his instincts finally screamed at him. He looked down, took stock of the barrel beneath the phone and the absence of Ron Saris or anyone else, and belatedly realized what he had been dreading from the start. He had walked into a trap.

The cell phone on top of the barrel rang. Horatio's eyes widened and then he spun, running full tilt for the door and pushing both Calleigh and Frank Tripp out of the doorway as he ran.

"Go, go!" he screamed at them. "Everyone get down!"

The warehouse exploded, showering the earth with metal, wood and other debris and lighting up the night sky in a brilliant orange cloud of flame.


	7. Chapter Six

Flames seared his suit jacket. Horatio landed face down into the soft earth and covered his head with his arms as chunks of burning wood and scalding metal fell to the ground around him. When he was sure the barrage was over, he slowly picked himself up and shrugged out of the ruined jacket. He hissed at what had to be a first degree burn on his back, judging by the painful pull of skin at the slightest movement.

Standing, he began to search for his team. "Frank? Calleigh?" He called.

He heard a short burst of swears and swung around to find Frank picking himself out of some brush. Horatio reached down and gripped Frank by the elbow, helping him to his feet. "Are you alright?" Horatio asked.

Frank looked more mad than usual. "Just fine, H," he said as he dusted himself off. "That sombitch is gonna pay for this though."

Horatio nodded at him, then set off to find Calleigh. Police officers everywhere were slowly getting to their feet, shaking off the effects of the ear-splitting explosion and the violent concussion. He spied Ryan Wolfe off in the distance running over to him, waving as he ran. Horatio gave him a short wave back to let him know he was alright.

"Calleigh?" Horatio called again.

He heard a soft groan in the grass. Calleigh was rubbing the back of her head with a dazed look on her face. "What the heck was that?" She asked.

Horatio knelt in front of her, steadying her with a firm hand to her shoulder. "Calleigh, are you okay?"

"I think so," she said with knitted eyebrows. "I got a raging headache though."

Horatio helped her up but kept a hand on her shoulder while Calleigh fought to keep her balance. "Shoulda known that was going to be a trap," Calleigh muttered. She took one tentative step and faltered. She would have collapsed altogether had it not been for Horatio's quick catch. He held her with both arms while she clutched her head. "Sorry, Horatio. Just a little dizzy is all."

Ryan caught up to them, concern plastered all over his face. "He set us up," he angrily stated.

Horatio nodded, sore at himself for playing almost perfectly into Ron's hand. "It would appear so," he answered Ryan. "But he didn't quite get all he was hoping for."

Calleigh wavered on her feet. Ryan placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. Horatio nodded at Ryan. "Get her checked out."

Ryan held Calleigh up by the elbows. Horatio began to walk away. "Where will you be?" He called after Horatio's retreating form.

"In the office," Horatio answered.

* * *

Almost as quickly as Ron dialled the cell phone, he hung up, tucking the flip phone into the inner breast pocket of his sport coat. Kyle stared at him curiously, trying to gauge just what Ron was up to. Ron smiled down at him. Suddenly, it hit Kyle. Ron had just triggered something with the phone. Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes.

"No," he whispered.

Ron smirked at him. "Awww," he cooed melodramatically. "You really did care for him, huh? Even after that son of a bitch abandoned you for all those years, you really forgave him, didn't you?"

"You asshole!" Kyle screamed. With hands and feet still tethered, Kyle lunged viciously for Ron. Julia yelled Kyle's name in surprise. He knew he wouldn't get far, but that didn't stop him from head-butting Ron squarely in his abdomen. Ron exhaled sharply as all the air was driven from his lungs and be began to topple backwards. Kyle fell to the ground on his stomach, squirming to right himself on his knees. But Carl and Jones were instantly on him, dragging him upright by his elbows while he flailed between the two, yelling unintelligibly at Ron's prone, wheezing form.

Ron looked momentarily bewildered as he clutched at his chest and tried to calm his breathing down. He saw Kyle's face, reddened with fury and yet crying at the same time. Ron started laughing. "Whoo!" he exclaimed. "That little shit shoulda' played football!"

Carl and Jones chuckled with him, making Kyle thrash between them even more. Ron got to his feet, dusted off his white pants and straightened his jacket. He walked towards Kyle and slapped his cheek lightly, almost playfully. "Enough with the hysterics, Kyle. You'll get over it," he shrugged.

Kyle glared murderously at his captor. Ron winked at Carl. Carl slammed Kyle in the gut with a knee. Julia yelled, and started hurling vague threats at the man. Kyle dropped to the floor, gasping for air just as Ron had only moments before. Carl and Jones stepped away, crowding around Ron. They murmured some words together, too quietly for Kyle to hear above the harsh pitch of his own breathing. Then they walked away, exited the warehouse and it was just Kyle and his mother alone in the dark. He lay slumped over where he was, too exhausted with frustration to move. The ache in his gut never really subsided, but it was nowhere near as painful as the ache in his heart.

* * *

The Public Relations correspondent for the Miami-Dade police department looked up from the paper she was holding in her hand to eye Horatio Caine critically. "I thought you had a pretty good idea who the suspect in the bombing was?"

Horatio nodded. "I do."

She frowned at the statement in front of her. "Then why on earth would you want me to say something like this?"

Horatio began to turn away from her. "Because these are the words that will bring him to me."

* * *

Ron Saris, Carl Juarez and Randy Jones sat in a small office in the warehouse, eating take-out breakfast from a greasy dive while gathered around an out of date television screen. They talked with their mouths full, joking and laughing even as they washed their egg sandwiches down with steaming hot coffee.

The covergirl blonde of a news anchor stared seriously into the camera as she delivered the top story that morning. Ron motioned to the television screen with his coffee cup as he swallowed a mouthful of food. He used his opposite hand to shush the other men. He leaned over and turned up the volume on the small television, then leaned back into the chair confidently.

"We take you now to the live press conference taking place at the Miami-Dade police department for a full update on this morning's spectacular explosion."

The scene cut from the news anchor in studio to the steps of the police department, barely lit by the early morning light. An older looking black woman in a stylish purple suit stood before a podium, looking quite stern as she read from a single white sheet of paper.

"This morning's blast did not result in any deaths or serious injury, although a few firefighters have been taken to hospital to be treated for minor injuries and smoke inhalation. Again, although we cannot disclose full details on this morning's incident, we do not believe that it was criminal in nature and was in fact caused by accidental circumstances."

A flurry of hands shot up around the podium for further questions by reporters, but Ron Saris had seen enough. He kicked the chair beneath him backwards as he leapt out of it to shut off the television. He clenched his jaw. Carl and Jones stayed wisely silent behind him. In his rampant fury, Ron picked up the television set and hurled it, but remained unsatisfied by the smashed television set that sputtered sparks and smoke before him.

"Give me a phone," Ron said lowly. Carl and Jones exchanged worried glances. "I said give me a phone!" he yelled.

A cell phone was handed over to Ron's extended palm. He angrily punched numbers into the phone.

* * *

Horatio stood off to the side of the media scrum, scrutinizing the press conference carefully. His phone rang in his pocket. Horatio turned away to answer it.

"Horatio Caine."

"Horatio," Ron repeated. "So nice to hear your voice."

"You seem surprised, Ron." Horatio countered.

"Nah, not surprised. Just disappointed." Ron swallowed as he fought to control his ever-mounting frustration. "Nice job you did there with the press conference. I assume that was you."

Horatio didn't bother to acknowledge Ron's statement. Ron growled slightly on the other end. "Well, whatever. Maybe we should just get this over with, huh? What do you say, H?"

"I would like that very much, Ron. I take it you still want your original deal."

"Yeah, I do," Ron affirmed. "Meet me at the shipyard by noon."

_"Where_ in the shipyard?" Horatio pressed.

"Just go to the shipyard and I'll direct you from there," Ron said impatiently.

The line abruptly went dead. Horatio kept his phone out, scrolled through his numbers until he settled on Ryan Wolfe's number. Ryan picked up after one ring.

"What's going on H?"

"How's Calleigh?" Horatio asked.

"She's a little banged up but the doc gave her the go ahead. Just needed to clear out the cobwebs I guess."

"Good," Horatio appraised.

"What do you need?" Ryan asked.

"I need you and anyone else you can gather on your end to meet me by the shipyard. Ron Saris is going down today."


	8. Chapter Seven

Kyle's head snapped up at the sound of hurried footsteps approaching. Ron and his two henchmen walked towards them quickly, purposefully. Ron snapped his fingers and pointed to Kyle and Julia. Julia's head lifted groggily off the ground where she had been dozing fitfully. Carl and Jones surrounded the two. Carl flicked open a switchblade and Kyle jumped slightly. He watched Carl carefully as he cut the plastic twist ties on his ankles. The same was done for Julia, but she seemed less interested. They were then lifted forcibly off the ground. His arms tugged painfully behind his back as Carl dispassionately led him through the warehouse. They followed Ron out into the bright morning sunlight, Kyle stumbling to keep up with his captor's long-legged pace. The same van was awaiting them just beyond the doors. Ron opened the double doors and Carl pushed him in. Julia was lifted in somewhat more gently.

She lay on the van floor with eyes closed. Kyle struggled to his knees to get a better look at her. "Mom," he whispered as the doors slammed shut on them.

Julia lifted heavy eyelids to look at Kyle. "Whatever happens...don't be afraid. Everything's...going to be....okay." Her words slurred and her eyelashes fluttered over tired eyes.

"Mom, don't go back to sleep," Kyle pleaded.

"Gonna...be okay," Julia reassured. "Remember...I...love you. I always have." Then she drifted off completely.

Kyle felt his hopes plummet. His father could be injured, possibly dead. His mother had been drugged to the point of convulsions. And the man he hated most in the world held all the cards to his freedom, his future and the fate of everyone he loved.

He sat back against the side of the van and stared at the floor helplessly as the vehicle rumbled to life and carried him off to whatever destiny awaited him.

* * *

They used unmarked cop cars to set up a perimeter around the overwhelmingly large South Beach shipyard. Expert marksmen positioned themselves on the rooftops of workshops with long-range rifles and binoculars. Calleigh was crouching behind a shipping crate, her gun drawn and sharp eyes scanning the dock for any movement. Ryan Wolfe was a lone CSI passenger amongst half a dozen Coast Guard officers. The boat stayed close to the shipyard, idling quietly. Everyone wore earpieces. Everyone anxiously glanced at watches and any approaching vehicle. All, except for Horatio. He watched the sun in the clear blue sky and the light that bounced off the metallic sides of the looming cranes above him. He felt ready; determined. He would not fail, not again.

His cell phone rang. Everyone else jerked at the sound. He picked it up calmly and put it to his ear. "Ron?"

"You brought the whole cavalry, I see," Ron commented.

"Where are you, Ron?"

"Walk towards the end of the dock," Ron commanded. "Then we'll do this right."

Horatio did as he was ordered, even as the other members of his team and the police force silently urged him not to. He approached steadily and off in the distance he spotted a cluster of bodies standing at the edge of the dock. Horatio quickly glanced around, looking for the others he knew had to be present somewhere. He squinted through his sunglasses and to his everlasting relief spotted his son and Julia. Ron stood behind them, holding onto each with one hand. He studied them, noting with alarm Julia's sagging figure and with fury, the dried blood on the side of Kyle's face and the split in the bottom of his lip. But those injuries did little to hide the large smile on his son's face.

"Dad!" He exclaimed.

Horatio nodded calmly at him. "It's alright son," Horatio assured. "This will all be over soon."

"Guess that depends on you," Ron sounded from behind the two hostages he held out as a shield. "I don't see a suitcase bulging at the seams with cash, H."

Horatio held up his empty hands. "Give me the hostages and I'll get you the cash."

"Tsk, tsk," Ron admonished while shaking his head. "That's pretty weak; even for you, Detective Caine."

"I think you and I both know this has nothing to do with the cash," Horatio said evenly.

Ron stopped and stared at Horatio. For a few tense moments, no one made a sound or shifted a muscle. Finally, Ron nodded slightly. "Still think you know the outcome of this one, huh Horatio? Fine. Have it your way. Lets see how you deal with this little wild card."

Ron pushed Kyle over the edge of the dock.

* * *

The moments played out in slow motion for Horatio. He saw Ron push his son, saw Kyle's eyes widen in shock as he slipped over the edge. He reached for Kyle and his gun simultaneously. Ron grabbed Julia and held her in front of him with a gun to her temple. Horatio drew his gun and pointed it at Ron.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Ron warned.

* * *

Ryan strained to see Horatio and the others on the far side of the shipping dock. The boat had been inching forwards, with Ryan motioning the captain with one hand while shading his eyes from the sun with the other. Off in the distance, he saw something plummet off the edge of the dock. His jaw dropped.

"Go!" He yelled.

* * *

Calleigh wasn't watching Horatio. She knew he would keep Ron busy while she scanned overhead. She heard the commotion between Ron and Horatio and fought against the urge to watch, instead focusing even more on the high points around them. Suddenly, she spied a split second shard of light from something reflective atop one of the shipping containers. She studied the spot and was rewarded for her patience when a man stepped into her line of sight. He was a monstrous looking biker of a man, and he had a gun trained on the back of Horatio's head. He cocked the gun and squeezed the trigger.

* * *

Horatio wanted to dive over the edge, but kept his gun pointed squarely at Ron. Ron held the staggering Julia in front of him. She looked at Horatio. He was surprised to see the lack of fear in her eyes.

Ron kissed her hair.

"Sure was fun, wasn't it sweetheart?"

He violently pushed her forward and aimed his gun.

Two shots rang out.

* * *

Kyle hit the water back first with a resounding slap. The landing punched all the air out of his lungs and stunned him. As he slipped beneath the water, he twisted and kicked his legs, fighting to get back to the surface with hands still pinned behind his back. After wrestling with the water for what felt like an eternity, his head finally popped out of the small waves and he had a brief second to gulp down air before he went under again.

This time, he panicked.

* * *

Calleigh's bullet had sailed clean and true and had found its mark in the back of the biker's head. He toppled over the edge of the shipping container and landed, dead, on the concrete shipyard with a dull thud.

* * *

Horatio heard the first shot, knew it came from behind him and paid it no heed. The second shot, however, came from in front of him. His own shot was reflexive, but it didn't hit anything. Ron took a running leap off the dock and into the water.

Julia's eyes were wide. Both she and Horatio looked down at her chest. A dark stain was quickly radiating out from her breastbone. She studied the bloody mark on her chest and looked up at Horatio with a confused frown.

* * *

Ryan scanned the water and briefly saw Kyle's head bob above the water before dipping under again. "There!" he pointed to the Coast Guards. They raced over to the spot where Kyle had last been seen, but it was then that another form entered the water. Ron Saris jumped feet first into the ocean, not too far from where Kyle had ungracefully landed. The boat slowed to a stop. Ryan frowned as another boat approached opposite their own and slowed to where Ron had landed. Already, a line was thrown to Ron, who caught it easily and was being hauled into the speedboat. The Coast Guards looked at him questioningly. One part of him wanted to give chase but the better part of him won out. Before anyone could talk him out of it, Ryan had slipped off his shoes and his gun holster and was diving over the side of the boat.

The water was dark and choppy; it was difficult to see anything and it took a strong swimmer to fight against the up swell. But if Ryan was anything, he was tenacious. He used a breaststroke and strong kicks to propel himself downwards, until finally he spotted Kyle's terrified wide eyes as he sunk deeper.

Ryan grabbed him by the collar of the shirt and began his ascent, pulling on Kyle's encumbered form. They broke the surface and Ryan greedily inhaled the Miami air. He hauled up Kyle and placed him in front of his chest, holding onto the teenager firmly with one arm and swimming with the other. Kyle coughed and sputtered, spitting out water and gasping as he inhaled. His hair stuck stubbornly to his forehead and eyes.

Hands reached down from the boat and gently took Kyle from his hold. More hands reached in to help him up. Ryan flopped down into the boat and took a few moments to recover from the taxing swim. A few of the Coast Guards were tending to Kyle, who still looked like he was having trouble catching his breath.

Ryan rubbed his weary face.

"You should have let one of us do that," one admonished him.

Ryan shrugged nonchalantly. "It's okay. I forgot to shower this morning anyway," he reasoned.

* * *

Horatio could only stare at first, until Julia began to sway. He was beside her in an instant, catching her as her knees completely gave way and her head fell back. He cradled her in his arms, lifted her head up so she could see his face.

"Hang on Julia, help will come."

She smiled sadly at him. "Not soon enough," she whispered.

Something was wet on the palm cupping Julia's back. He moved his hand from her spine so he could see the blood covering it. Ron's bullet had entered her back and had passed all the way through. He swore silently.

"You take..." Julia whispered. She coughed, choked on her own pink, frothy blood as it rose up from a pierced lung. Horatio leaned over her, placing his ear only inches above her mouth. "You take care of...him."

Horatio drew his head up so she could see his face and the promise embedded there. He nodded resolutely and smiled at her. As her eyelids fluttered shut for the last time, he kissed her forehead and held her close, cradling her broken body until the paramedics came up behind him and forcibly drew his shaking hands away.


	9. Chapter Eight

His son was sitting in the back of an ambulance with a blanket wrapped around his sopping wet frame. Kyle looked exhausted and banged up but to Horatio's immense relief, he was alive. Kyle looked up, initially looked relieved when he saw Horatio approach, but his face soon fell into a frown. He studied Horatio's sombre walk, the grimace on his face and the slow way he folded up his sunglasses and put them in his breast pocket. Horatio glanced at the asphalt first before looking up into his son's questioning eyes.

"What is it dad?" Kyle asked nervously.

Horatio paused to breathe and chose his next words carefully. "Kyle, it's about your mother."

Kyle's heart thudded anxiously in his chest. He already knew the answer, dreaded the answer, but he asked the question anyway. "Is she okay?"

Horatio shook his head sadly.

* * *

Calleigh and Ryan watched the father-son reunion from a safe distance. They heard Kyle's shout of disbelief, and watched Horatio encircle his son in a tight embrace as Kyle sobbed against his shoulder. Calleigh's face was drawn in empathy.

"He'll be okay, eventually. He's still got Horatio," Ryan offered.

Calleigh reluctantly nodded, finally pulling herself away from the scene before her. "Any trace of Ron?"

Ryan scowled miserably. "Coast Guard is on the lookout, but that boat got the drop on us. Chances are they'll ditch it soon and take off in something else."

Calleigh folded her arms across her chest. She turned to survey the crime scene and in particular, the perpetrator she herself had brought down. "Maybe we'll get some insights from him."

Ryan cocked his head and squinted at the dead man and the blood pooled around his head. "Maybe. I'll get Tara on it right away. Nice shot, by the way."

Calleigh half-heartedly smiled. "Wish I had got Ron first."

* * *

Horatio spent the next day on the observation deck above the autopsy lab where Tara worked on the thug first, and Julia second. He seemed awash in his own world, full of anger, despondency and remorse. He felt responsible for Julia's death, and perhaps always would. He felt helpless against the depression his son had slipped into since the kidnapping and the shooting and knew his words of comfort were useless in bringing about any reprieve. He had no doubt that Kyle would get through this; in his 16 years of life, the boy had already experienced a lifetime of neglect, fear and hopelessness, and none of that had held him down yet. Again, he felt regret for not having realized that Kyle existed in the first place. He fought against imagining how different life could have been for his son if he had found him sooner, knowing that those types of thoughts were a waste of time.

The dead suspect, Carl Juarez, had been identified. His past revealed a long history of crime and almost half his life had been spent in jail. He had been recently released on parole. It also looked like he had a prolific gambling addiction.

"Ron must have promised to pay off his gambling debts."

Horatio was momentarily startled by the soft voice at his side. He hadn't realized that Eric Delko was standing beside him until he spoke. Horatio glanced sideways at him. "Yes, I think you're correct," Horatio finally answered.

Horatio turned away from the glass and leaned against the wall. He rubbed his tired face.

Eric stood uncertainly in front of him. "H, you may not want to hear this, but I just got the toxicology tests back from Julia."

Horatio's eyebrows knitted in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Julia had lethal doses of Tryptizol in her blood." Eric handed the report to Horatio, who studied it in blatant confusion. "She was overdosing when we got to her."

"Why are you telling me this?" Horatio asked.

"I'm telling you this because you need to know that Ron killed Julia long before you ever had a chance to rescue her. There was nothing you could have done."

Horatio visibly flinched. The news did not relieve him. Instead, it spurred his anger against Julia's killer even more. Nonetheless, he handed the report back to Eric calmly. "Thank you, Mr. Delko."

* * *

The funeral for Julia Winston took place outside in the mid-day; where a slight wind helped keep the otherwise blistering heat from becoming too overwhelming. Kyle struggled to compose himself but could no longer hold back the tears that streamed consistently down his cheeks. His father stood solemnly beside him, with hands clasped in front of him while he watched the black casket be lowered slowly into the ground.

Many people attended; several were Julia's contacts from her days in real estate where she had been quite popular. Horatio also noted the presence of Julia's mother, who watched the ceremony in a haze of shock. Her eyes were red-rimmed from days of crying. She looked up at one point and saw Horatio, but then spied Kyle beside him. Something seemed to click inside of her; whether it was fear, embarrassment or perhaps both, Horatio couldn't tell. She hurriedly left the funeral after that, without saying a word to either Horatio or Kyle. Luckily, Kyle did not seem to notice her and even if he had, he didn't seem to recognize or remember her. Horatio surmised that was probably for the best.

When the funeral ended and the crowd began to disperse, Horatio's cell phone rang. It was Frank.

"Horatio, don't mean to bother you but I thought you should know that we've located the boat Ron escaped in."

"And?" Horatio prompted.

"Not a sign of him. Wiped clean. This boat was a rental. Rented out to some alias I assume. It was abandoned up the coast." There was a beat before Frank spoke next. "You think he switched boats and made off to Cuba?"

Horatio had been wracking his brain trying to figure out Ron's next move. "I don't know, he admitted. It's possible. But something tells me Ron isn't quite finished with Miami yet."

* * *

They needed to get Kyle's personal effects from Julia's house. Horatio offered to do it alone, but Kyle insisted he was fine to go back to his house and pack up his own things. Yellow crime tap still barred the entry; Horatio held it up so Kyle could duck underneath it to get in. Once inside, he froze. Horatio came up beside him and studied his face, which was pinched in agony. Horatio laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Do you want to wait outside?"

Kyle gulped and shook his head tentatively at first, then with more vigour. "No, I'm fine," he said, although it sounded like it was more to reassure himself than his father. He walked away from the living room and loped up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Horatio remained where he was, with hands firmly planted on his hips.

* * *

Kyle was silent on the drive over to Horatio's house; too many thoughts and emotions flitted through his brain, one after the other and never staying for very long. He imagined it was like having hummingbirds in his head. His attention was pulled to the present, however, when the Hummer slowed as it turned into the driveway leading up to Horatio's bungalow.

Kyle had only been to his father's house a few times; Horatio rarely seemed to spend much time there. It was much smaller than Julia's.

Horatio held the door open for Kyle and unconsciously fiddled with the keys, almost apprehensively. Kyle entered and made a quick survey of his new surroundings. It was an open concept house, sparsely decorated and furnished, but with a modern, almost European look to it. A white sectional couch sat on the darkly stained hardwood floor, facing a large wall-mounted flat screen television. There was a black lacquer fireplace on one end of the couch. Kyle could see through the fireplace and into the dining room beyond. The kitchen was brighter than Kyle would have imagined; with red cabinets that looked like they were straight out of an Ikea catalogue. There was a door off to the side of the entry and Kyle peered in, noting the home office and piles upon piles of boxes containing case files as well as shelves containing cluttered, unsorted books.

"We'll convert that into a bedroom for you," Horatio noted.

Kyle stared at him. "Where will you work?"

Horatio shrugged. "Apparently there's a police department not far from here that has an office with my name on it."

Kyle blinked, then grinned. "Funny," he remarked.

Horatio cracked a small smile. "For now, you can sleep in my bedroom."

Kyle looked confused. "But where will you sleep?"

Horatio motioned to the couch. "I've fallen asleep right there on many occasions. It's nothing new."

Kyle reluctantly nodded, then headed off to Horatio's bedroom with his arms laden with luggage possessing almost everything he owned. Horatio watched him go, then settled onto the couch. He flicked on the television, kept it on a national news channel and watched inattentively.

After waiting for nearly half an hour, Horatio went in to check on Kyle. He stood in the doorway and smiled. Kyle was face down on the bed, arms and legs splayed out on either side of him. It looked like he had collapsed there; as though the weight of the last few traumatizing days finally got the better of him. Horatio nodded satisfactorily and closed the door quietly after he left.

"Sleep well, my son," he whispered.


	10. Epilogue

_Several Weeks Later_

Horatio sat at his kitchen bar and drank his coffee wordlessly as he thumbed through the morning paper. Bare feet slapped on the hardwood in front of him, announcing Kyle's staggering arrival from the depths of his newly converted bedroom. Horatio grinned. In the first week of living together, he had been initially baffled by Kyle's morning-zombie routine, but had since grown used to it and now rather enjoyed the slightly dazed look on his son's face coupled with the crumpled, spiky hair.

"Good morning Kyle," Horatio greeted as his son weaved behind him to reach for the cupboard containing cereal. He received an unintelligible mumble in reply. Horatio smiled. Sometimes Horatio asked him skill-testing questions in the morning for the benefit of his own amusement and would watch eagerly as Kyle's face screwed up in mild confusion before realizing that he was the brunt of his father's joke. He would then receive a quick glare before Kyle went back to wandering mindlessly through the kitchen in search of food. Horatio decided to give him the morning off today and refrained from asking him what the square root of 5946 was.

Kyle sat down across from his father with a full bowl of cereal and milk and began chewing groggily, holding his tired head up with one hand and spooning cereal into his mouth with the other. Horatio folded up the paper he had been reading and took another sip of coffee. "You need a ride this morning?"

Kyle nodded tiredly.

Horatio stood up. "Well, hurry up. We'll have to leave soon." He was about to pour the rest of his unfinished coffee down the drain when Kyle reached up wordlessly for it. He motioned with his fingers to toss the cup over and Horatio briefly weighed the pros and cons of giving a 16-year-old black coffee for breakfast when he finally decided in favour of Kyle's pathetic state. He passed the cup over and Kyle began downing his father's coffee with vigour.

"Hurry up," Horatio reiterated.

Kyle spooned in the last few mouthfuls of cereal as quickly as he could, still munching as he got up from the kitchen bar and placed the bowl into the sink. He was walking across the hallway when the squeal of tires caught Horatios attention. He had been in the process of securing his gun holster to his belt when he froze. Kyle, upon seeing his father's reaction, similarly stopped in his tracks. Horatio's eyes went wide a fraction of a second before gunfire began peppering his bungalow. Glass exploded inwards; Kyle threw his arms up around his head as small shards laced his exposed skin. The bullets splintered through the wood door as they trailed across the house.

"Get down!" Horatio yelled at his son.

Kyle dove for the floor, face-first. He lay on the ground with his arms covering his head, jerking in pain as glass continued to rain down upon him. Horatio was behind the couch with his gun drawn, listening intently.

The gunfire stopped. But instead of the anticipated sound of the car speeding off in a getaway, Horatio heard footsteps approach his front door. With galvanizing alarm, Horatio realized that Kyle was closest to the door. Horatio leapt over the back of the couch and grabbed his son's arm, sticky with blood from the multitude of cuts covering his body. Kyle yelped in surprise, but followed Horatio's crouching run to the safety behind the couch. The front door was punched open; Horatio had enough time to push Kyle down behind the couch but not enough time to spin and face his aggressor head on.

Ron Saris' bullet caught him squarely in the shoulder. Horatio fell to the floor, feeling as though the air had been completely punched out of his chest. The pain was sudden and excruciating; pulsing fire blossomed from his collarbone through his chest and down to his right fingertips. He gasped with it. He clutched wildly for his gun, but belatedly realized that it was no longer in his hand; his numb fingers closed onto empty air. He had dropped it.

Ron Saris stood over him with his Glock pointed between Horatio's eyes. "Surprised to see me, Horatio?"

"Not really," Kyle's voice answered to his right.

Ron spun quickly, but not quick enough to avoid the vase that Kyle chucked towards his head. He ducked, but the large cylinder still glanced off his temple, making him flinch in pain and stagger sideways.

Horatio used the distraction to reach for his gun and bring it up towards Ron's head.

"This is the last time you ever get the drop on me, Ron."

Ron's eyebrows shot upward in unadulterated shock moments before Horatio's gun went off. The bullet sailed directly above Ron's wide eyes and into his forehead before passing through the back of his skull. The shocked expression never left Ron's face, even as he toppled backwards into a dead heap on Horatio's living room floor.

For a few minutes, neither Kyle nor Horatio breathed. Kyle half expected Ron to rise from the dead like some horror movie villain, but when that didn't happen, he ran over to his father's side. Horatio grimaced and hissed in pain as Kyle propped him up to rest against his chest. Kyle placed his hands on Horatio's wound and pressed down tightly. Horatio used his left hand to pat Kyle gently on the shoulder.

"Nice...work," he panted.

Kyle was breathing hard but tried to shrug nonchalantly. "Seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

Horatio nodded. "You...still owe me...for the vase."

Kyle was staring at Ron's body in disbelief. He absently patted his father on the chest. "I'm gonna have to write you an IOU for that one."

Horatio didn't have an answer for that and in any event, was too exhausted to even think of one. He felt safe in his son's arms and knew that help would arrive one way or another. He began to let his eyelids drift shut.

"It's really over, isn't it?" Kyle whispered in his ear.

"Yes." Horatio nodded. Despite the throbbing pain in his shoulder, his face softened into a contented smile. "It's over now."

THE END

_Before anyone asks, I swear I didn't kill off Horatio. He's fine. Recuperating as we speak. He appreciates the flowers and well wishes. Thanks to everyone who read and special thanks to all those who reviewed. Hope you enjoyed!_


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